


The Blooming of the Roses

by Karin (Karinpon)



Series: Mid-life Princess [1]
Category: Jupiter (Band), Kamijo (Musician) RPF, Versailles (Band)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Coprophagia, Crossdressing, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Don't Try This At Home, Gay Sex, Guro, Japanese Bands, Japanese Character(s), Latex, Libertine, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Penises, Prolapse, Scat, Sex Toys, Shit-eating, Visual Kei, Wrongful Imprisonment, Yaoi, aristocratic, counter-enlightenment, laxative fun, pissing, prolapse-licking, rose cross, rosebudding, shitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karinpon/pseuds/Karin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hizaki is invited to Kamijou's small yet extravagant house party. Dressing his best, he enters into the debauch having but a faint idea of what to expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blooming of the Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sexsuna (Junna)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sexsuna+%28Junna%29).
  * Inspired by [Mid-life Princess](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749274) by [Karin (Karinpon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karinpon/pseuds/Karin), [Sexsuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexsuna/pseuds/Sexsuna). 



Ever since Hizaki had let slip his recently discovered sexual orientation amid idle chatter over Rosehip Tea with Kamijou, roughly a week ago, he had been getting a lot of pestering from the man about the positions he had tried, the numbers and sizes of cocks he had taken, and how hot it made him. He’d suspected Kamijou was homo long before he’d suspected the same of himself, but the absolute vigour wherewith he chose to discuss these things surprised Hizaki. It was a little offensive.

The other day he’d had to sit through a rant about how boring lubricant made things over the phone, then been drawn into a pseudophilosophical debate about the interconnectedness of pleasure and pain, which he felt like he lost, though it was hard to know. Yesterday Kamijou had called and invited him to a house party, entitled, he’d said, _The Blooming of the Roses of Versailles._ Something celebrating the relative success of the last band they were in together, he supposed—until he’d been told to dress provocatively and ‘do a little anal stretching beforehand’.

No wholesome celebration, after all. But the air of mystery and promise of sex had a draw on him, such that he’d agreed to come to the thing, which was today. He and Rame were on a relationship hiatus of sorts, so his _ero self_ wanted much for attention. He had dyed his hair a bright yellow early this morning, and later given it a good combing and straightening; he had let it grow near to his waist, but for the fringe which framed his face. Many days he thanked his god-ancestors he hadn’t developed any bald patches or receding hairline yet.

The hour was nigh, and he had to dress, so he threw open his wardrobe and waited for something inside to inspire him. Kamijou wanted provocative? Hizaki would go all the way. He took from the corner of his wardrobe a vacuum-sealed stack of plastic containing _that one outfit_ he’d ever only worn while alone, masturbating. Laying it on his bed, he unzipped it, and took out the articles of clothing: a black latex maillot with sleeves that ended in fingerless gloves, holes in the front for exposure of the nipples, and a pleated skirt portion that barely covered the hips; and a pair of thigh-high stockings of like material. He undressed down to his lace panties and took a moment to bend over, slip them down, and step out of them, relishing the act. Then he sat on the bed and delighted even more in the act of slipping on the stockings, and climbing into the perverse maillot.

Turning to his body mirror, he arranged some strands of hair, and struck a pose, running his hands over his latex-clad form. His dick throbbed, the bulge barely hid by the skirt. He felt more than ready for whatever Kamijou had in store for him. Sitting at his vanity table, he applied light makeup—light on everything except the eyeliner, anyway—and got up to fetch his black raincoat, a covering whose sort always aided public travel while dressing so erotically.

Before exiting his flat, he shod his feet in knee-high black pleather boots, with platforms and high, chunky heels—these boots had hidden zip closure and bore ornamental lacing on the front. When people looked twice at him on his way out of the building, it had probably more to do with his bright yellow hair than anything else.

#

Kamijou lived in a luxurious condominium, which he might have owned. It was not he who answered Hizaki’s knock at his door, but a man with deep red lipstick and long, straight, black hair who had doubtless been told to dress provocatively, too: he wore all PVC, thigh-high red boots, a black minidress with pleated skirt and a red corset on top, and red elbow-length gloves. He also wore black fishnet stockings with garters. This man was none other than _Asagi of D._

“Please, come in,” he said, moving out of the way. “Hizaki...” His voice seemed to savour the name. “I’m glad you came to our party.”

Stepping in, Hizaki looked around. The flat was ridiculously spacious, carpeted with the colour of burgundy, and had a giant window in one wall overlooking the starlit city, near which a long, elegant dining table was arranged with a number of chairs he cared not to count. There were sofas around, too, and a huge flatscreen TV which, by the sound of it, played hardcore American porn. And who other than Teru sat watching? He even had his fat ivory pole out, clutched in hand. He wore a long-sleeved gothic lolita top, all black with white lace trimming—his matching skirt, short and multi-layered, lay on the couch beside him; he wore no bottom but a pair of latex black thigh-highs connected to a garter belt, mostly hidden by the top. His long hair had been recently bleached, but he wore it loose and messily, which was a minor improvement over how he’d been wearing it in recent years.

Hizaki sat down beside him, taking off his raincoat and hanging it over the back of the sofa. They had enjoyed some mutual masturbation before, so his proximity as Teru took himself in hand wasn’t strange. He gave Hizaki a pretty smile, and turned back to the porn: slutty American women having their arseholes plunged by big, circumcised cocks. Watching this wasn’t a bad way to kill some time waiting for Kamijou, who somehow thought it proper for a host, of all people, to be ‘fashionably late’.

There were two women on the screen, and the camera angle focused on their buttocks. With each brutal thrust their anuses seemed to come out a little farther, wrapped tightly round the cocks. It didn’t seem like any lubricant was being used, but the vocalisations were nothing but pleasure. They possibly used drugs. This hard sticking made Hizaki want to stroke himself, so he pulled his erection out the front of his maillot, and played with it under his skirt.

Following synchronised hard, deep thrusts, the men pulled out suddenly, and the women shat out their insides—rectal prolapse. It shocked Hizaki, but he recognised it—he’d heard it grew increasingly popular in America. He heard Kamijou’s voice behind him: “The roses have bloomed.”

He turned, though he didn’t think to unhand his cock. Kamijou leaned in over the back of the sofa and spoke more softly: “Isn’t it the most beautiful thing?”

Hizaki’s gaze returned to the screen. The women’s rectums hung out disgustingly. One woman began kissing and licking the other’s distended rectum. It intrigued Hizaki, but he wouldn’t call it _beautiful._ Kamijou used that for many strange things.

Their host attired himself like an aristocrat, and wore his long, bleached hair teased up, with half his face overhung by it. His makeup was the usual transgression against good taste, where he tried to look as much as possible like a revenant—all it did was pronounce his age. He gave a smug smile and straightened up, as if to answer Hizaki’s non-reply. “The theme of this party,” he said, “is such as you have seen before you. Only men of aristocratic tastes such as ourselves can truly appreciate it. By the way, the door is electronically secured. My cherished guests cannot turn me down without jumping out of a fourteenth-storey window.”

So here it was, their host showing his true, scintillating colours. Hizaki didn’t feel strongly about it. Maybe there would be drugs, so he, too, could get off on the whole thing. When you got to be as old and jaded as he had, you could try anything for the promise of thrills. Teru seemed to have had foreknowledge of what was to happen, and it probably excited Asagi whether he knew about it beforehand or not.

“But before the main fun can begin,” said Kamijou, “I have laid some delights out on the table for you to enjoy. Please, go and eat.”

Hizaki and Teru got off the couch, turning their backs to the ongoing moans and more noisome sounds emanating from the TV. Teru’s erection bounced cutely as he walked; Hizaki’s hadn’t died, but his skirt held it down. The table was set with three plates to one side, each joined by a steaming white mug of something black; and a huge, round chocolate cake, decorated with roses and thorny vines of icing, abutted by a basket of colourful tarts. Asagi already sat at the table, clasping his shinily gloved hands together as if in a prayer. Hizaki took the chair beside him, and Teru the one beside him. They faced the giant window, the only means of escape if they chose to escape: a window to final oblivion.

It was like looking to the future for Hizaki. Twenty or thirty years from now, he would be all shrivelled up, and nobody but a gerontophile would want to play cruel and unusual sex games with him. That would be the end of his life.

Kamijou cut the cake, evenly distributing the three tall pieces, before taking a tart to nibble. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said. “Take another piece if you finish your first without fully delighting in the flavours.” He set down the knife and began to leave. “I have some preparations to make in the boudoir.”

The others had already started eating and drinking. Hizaki sniffed his drink—it was coffee, the most decadent of non-alcoholic beverages. He would need some. But first, he picked up his fork and razed the treat on his plate, taking a bite. Delicious as expected. Was it the cake or the coffee that was drugged? Maybe the tarts; he took one of those, too, and found it filled with tasty lemon paste.

It was the first meal in years where he’d overindulged. How had he even been able to stomach two pieces of that cake? He regretted it already: his bowels turned and groaned. He asked, “Where’s the water closet?” And Teru just stuffed his face with another forkful of cake.

Asagi laid a hand on his shoulder, saying, “I’ll be your water closet.” He sank off his chair, down to his knees.

“A-are you serious? You can’t mean...”

“Yes, shit in my mouth, Hizaki-chan. I have to go, too, but I’ll wait for you.” He parted his red lips, extended his tongue up at Hizaki.

If he wanted it, Hizaki supposed it was better than soiling this expensive-looking carpet. He turned sideways on the chair, arse sticking out toward Asagi’s face, and lifting the skirt out of the way, pulled aside the back of his maillot—wasn’t difficult to do, as it consisted of just a latex strip that cleaved his buttocks. He felt Asagi’s breath, hot on his backside—then those fat red lips closing around his sphincter, that tongue probing inside. He let loose quite involuntarily, and Asagi gave a muffled moan, swallowing loudly as a very torrent of shit passed from rectum to throat.

It lasted a few minutes. Hizaki didn’t have any usual problems like this, and nobody he’d been near had shown signs of any seasonal vomiting-shitting bugs. The food or drink, maybe all of it, must have contained some laxative. Didn’t Asagi have to go, too? Hizaki didn’t feel ready to be a toilet, himself...

“Mm.” Asagi pulled away when it stopped coming. “Sweeter than I’d imagined Hizaki-chan’s shit would be. I’m afraid I have to let mine all out now, and I wouldn’t insist on you soiling your pretty mouth with my faeces—ah!—so the carpet will need some cleaning.”

It’s not like Kamijou can’t afford professional cleaning, Hizaki thought, hearing the shit splatter behind him.

“Trade seats with me” Teru said. “I need the toilet, too.”

So they exchanged seats. Kamijou came near, clapping slowly with his velvet-gloved hands, so that it didn’t really sound like clapping. He said, “Everything’s ready, mon amoures. Follow me when you’ve finished relieving yourselves. This grand expulsion, I’m afraid, was necessary for a more beautiful blooming!”

Thinking of what he should say to the madman, if anything, Hizaki brought his palm suddenly to his abdomen. It was coming again, and Asagi was occupied. He let his arse hang off the other side of the chair, and released. Almost immediately he felt thin lips close around his sphincter, heard an effete moaning. Their host had offered his own mouth. It was the least he could do, after all.

#

The boudoir was larger than any bedroom for a single person needed to be—although it could be safely assumed that Kamijou rarely slept there alone. His bed, the frame constructed of a black wood, its posts reaching nearly to the very high ceiling, had enough room for perhaps four adults at once. Candles on high stands surrounded it at safe distances, and there were a wardrobe, a desk, and a chest of drawers against the walls, half hidden by shadow.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable on the bed,” said Kamijou. “We’ll be with you shortly.” He went into the shadows and started, by the sound of it, rifling through drawers. Teru joined him, and Hizaki supposed they had planned this thing together.

He sat on the foot of the bed beside Asagi, intending to wait on the others, but Asagi leaned in, kissing his cheek and neck, fondling his nipples (which his outfit made readily accessible). In return, he reached under Asagi’s skirt, finding his cock loose and throbbing, and grabbed hold, stroking it. Asagi moaned in his ear, then bit it, drawing blood. The pain didn’t bother Hizaki.

Teru came to the bed, pinching up the tip of his erection to show off his new purple cock-ring. Leaning toward the organ, Hizaki let it bounce on his nose, on his tongue as he stuck it out and made his mouth welcoming, and Teru fucked his yielding face. While this went on, Hizaki continued stroking the man who sat beside him. In a moment Kamijou came over carrying a bag overstuffed with what were obviously sex toys, which he set on the bed before unbuttoning his trousers, letting his huge circumcised cock out to greet Asagi’s hungry mouth.

Circumcision was a strange modification in Japan, but it seemed right up Kamijou’s alley to have something like that done. A normal person might get a piercing, maybe even several along the shaft—or an injection of silicone beads ‘for her pleasure’. Kamijou had more aristocratic tastes than that. For his part, Hizaki thought a circumcised cock frightening to look at.

So he and Asagi sat sucking Teru’s and Kamijou’s cocks respectively, all the while fondling each other, till their mouths were suddenly vacated. “Now,” Kamijou said, “we don’t intend to make you bloom with our cocks, which are too slick and perhaps a bit small for the undertaking; but some preparation is in order. Turn around and get on your hands and knees, both of you!”

And they did, with about equal promptness. A good, gentle fucking, Hizaki thought, was the perfect way to ease his anus into the gross mistreatment their host had planned. And he’d long awaited a chance to feel Teru inside him. He soon felt the adorable rhythm guitarist’s hands on his hips, the lace trimming of his long sleeves tickling his buttocks. His cock brought a little pain as it slipped in, for saliva wasn’t the perfect lubricant, but only served the purpose.

Asagi moaned like some American whore beside him, being rammed by Kamijou. Hizaki tried not to make any sound, but when he got really into the dick squeezing in and out of him, he couldn’t help it. Teru sped up after a while, and stopped suddenly, spent. He pulled slowly out of Hizaki, drivelling spend on his balls. Kamijou took a little longer to come, and Asagi came at the same time, ejaculating all over the duvet—no doubt he’d had a lot of practice synchronising it like that.

“You’re loose,” he said, smacking Asagi’s hip as he retrieved himself. “But not too loose for some of the _blooming devices_ I’ve gathered.”

“Oh,” Asagi gasped, “what a relief.”

Resting his limbs, Hizaki lay on his belly, listening. “This one will be perfect for Asagi-chan,” their host murmured, presumably going over the tools with Teru. “Any old one will be good for the _Princess._ ”

There was that word: _Princess._ Hizaki loved being called it, and Kamijou had known this for many years. It was a weakness Kamijou exploited, that one word, applied to him, made his heart beat faster, made him shudder and his muscles melt. Though it made no objective difference under present circumstances, unless perhaps it had loosened up his anus. Yes, that must be the intent.

He squirmed subtly as something cold and hard entered him—a glass buttplug, of great proportions. Would it be pulled out suddenly? At least it was being given some time. His arsehole would dry up and grip the thing tight, then he could bloom. A hand slid between his legs, pulling his genitalia out from under his belly, pulling up. He took that as a sign he should rise a little, and got back to his hands and knees. Teru jerked and twisted his cock between his legs till it hung rigid, nearly to mid-thigh; then he took it in his mouth, sucking for a moment.

“Turn around so I can sit on you,” Teru said. “If you climax you’ll get nice and tight around the neck of that plug. Not only that, but my anus needs some attention, and I can’t stand Kamijou’s foreign-looking beast!”

“Hmph, I’ll get you to appreciate it some day.” Kamijou slowly forced a long, strange dildo into Asagi. It had many varisized segments, half of them studded. Saying nothing, Hizaki scooted to the edge of the bed, spreading his legs. Teru gave his swaying erection a kiss, another brief suck, then turned around and spread his buttocks, sitting on it.

He was really tight. Could it be possible he got fucked with even less frequency than Hizaki? He grabbed his hips and applied force to help him along.

“Ah!” Teru whined. “Be gentle—it’s been a while.”

“How long?” Hizaki slowed his entry, barely.

“Since—oh—I was in your band. You made me wear skirts around, and some idiot propositioned me—he didn’t even care I was obviously a man.”

“Oh.” He’d passed the point of resistance; now Teru’s tight arsehole drew him in. “So you had sex for money?”

“N-no. I wanted to try it in a dress, so I did it without asking anything. But he did take me drinking after.”

Hizaki thrust, eliciting a moan. Next to him, on the bed, Kamijou fondled Asagi’s cock, having successfully got all of that monstrous toy inside him. A big, pink ring jutted out from under Asagi, between his spread legs as he lay back and let Kamijou play with him; that was what he’d pull to make him bloom.

Almost there, Hizaki wrapped his arms around Teru’s waist, thrusting hard till reaching climax. It made his arsehole sore as it convulsed, tightening around the plug, just as intended. Teru slid off him, down to the carpet.

“We should do that again some time,” he said, seeming to wipe his eyes. Hizaki made a note that he’d have to try it facing him next time—it was a quirk to behold, shedding tears during anal.

“Are you ready?” said Kamijou, in English.

Hizaki nodded. He was ready to bloom, to have done with it and make the others happy. He returned to his hands and knees on the bed. With a long, manicured fingernail Kamijou tapped the base of the glass plug inside him, then he gripped it, and gave it a gentle tug—a test. It held fast.

“Everyone observe,” the host said, “the blooming of the beautiful Hizaki-hime!” With that, he squeezed Hizaki’s buttock and pulled harshly on the plug.

Hizaki cried. The pain was immense. There was a popping sound, and the pain suddenly gave way to a strange and cold feeling of emptiness, till he felt something hot, heavy, and slimy caress his perineum. Oh, he was disfigured!

“Beautiful, beautiful,” Kamijou said in his mangled English. “The rose of the princess has bloomed!”

“Wow,” Teru commented. “Such disgusting things are inside us.”

“Disgusting?!” Kamijou’s tone seemed genuinely outraged. “I did not take you for such a philistine.”

“I’m not! It’s just...”

“Then prove it. Take your tongue to a man’s blossom and show your love for such a delicate thing.”

“Y-you can’t be serious. No, you’re Kamijou—of course you’re serious.” Teru groaned. “Okay... but I’ll only do Hizaki’s.” He put his hands on the bed, moving up. Hizaki could feel his rectal prolapse being pushed this way and that, though it was not very sensitive itself—a dull tickling was all he felt through it. The hot, sticky mass rubbed against his perineum, making him shudder, making his cock grow erect again.

“All right, that’s enough,” Kamijou said. “Now let’s move on to Asagi’s blooming. It will be bigger!”

Turning to see, Hizaki reached and felt behind himself, and wished he hadn’t: his hand jerked back to his front as it came upon the thing that belonged inside him. He hoped this wouldn’t be permanent. Not that he should care overmuch—anything could be disguised with a big enough petticoat.

Asagi lay on his back, holding his own legs up in the air by the knee while Kamijou toyed with the rubbery ring of the plug, or whatever it was which had features of a plug, a dildo, and a string of giant anal beads. “I’m ready,” Asagi said. “Let me bloom!”

Their host gripped the ring tightly, his eyes shifting to be sure all eyes were on his action; and he tugged. Asagi moaned; his erect cock sprayed a stream of piss on Kamijou as his pink insides came out, glistening in the candlelight, wrapped tightly round the segments of the toy. Since that was long, so was what escaped Asagi. And witnessing this, Hizaki felt fairly certain a hospital visit would be in order. Kamijou tried to wrest the toy free of the intestinal grip, but this only resulted in the most lowbrow sort of comedy; all the while Asagi murmured nonsense, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Eventually Kamijou resorted to peeling Asagi’s insides off the toy. With his nails, it was a wonder no blood was drawn. And it hung, long, limp, and strangely _alive;_ the prolapsed length of Asagi’s digestive tract—no, his _bloom._

Asagi looked down at it and smiled. With a stertorous breath, he seemed to admire it. “I’m inside out,” he said; then, some sense returning to his features, “Shouldn’t I see a doctor?”

“Soon,” Kamijou said. “I’ll even pay the bills. But first, let us immortalise this night of blooming roses.” He took a polaroid camera out of his coat pocket and moved back. “Smile.”

Asagi not only smiled, but made a V-sign with both his hands, and a picture was taken. Their host handed the developing polaroid to Teru and took another, then said, “Hizaki-chan, come, get in the shot. Crawl over Asagi’s bloom with yours facing the camera.”

Anything that would get them safely out of here faster. Crawling on the bed, Hizaki threw a knee over Asagi’s extracted guts, and leaned in to fellate him—why not?—his arse lifted high toward the camera. Kamijou snapped three more photos.

“Ah,” Kamijou’s voice trembled, “I came all over my expensive trousers. Both of you make the V-sign at the camera now.”

So Hizaki turned, and smiled foolishly, making the V-sign with both hands alongside Asagi. This would be expensive fan memorabilia, if it ever escaped their host’s private collection. Kamijou moaned excitedly, and took more pictures.

“Now do a ‘rose cross’,” he said. “Let your beautiful flowers kiss!”

After a moment, Hizaki understood, and began thinking of just how to realise that in an elegant way. Asagi’s was much longer than his. Asagi whispered to him, “Drape yours in mine—perhaps that counts?”

Shuddersomely intimate, but it would probably please their host. Hizaki worked up the courage, somehow, to grasp in his hand a length of Asagi’s intestine, to lift it up, and coil it around his own prolapse. And it faced the camera, a grotesque kind of twin-ouroboros, which Kamijou took a picture of as its originators quivered in each other’s arms.

“Ahh, magnifique,” he said in French. “Now it won’t be such a shame to see you turn back inside yourselves. The Princess I can do with my own two hands.” As he said that, Hizaki felt a hand fasten on his buttock. Kamijou tried to push his prolapse back inside. It seemed, when his anus tightened around their host’s wrist, that he’d somehow succeeded. “Voila!”

Hizaki climbed off the bed, feeling drained. “C-can I go now?” he queried.

“But of course. You bloomed beautifully, and I would have you do it again some time, perhaps with just the two of us. The security number on the pad by the door is four-three-seven-eight.”

Teru rushed to the door, wanting to be the first to use this knowledge.

“What about me?” said Asagi. “There’s no way you’re going to get it all back where it belongs with your hands...”

Kamijou pressed his ankles together and folded an arm in front of himself, bowing deeply. “For you, my most extravagant friend, I’ll pay for an ambulance, and some secrecy.”

Finding his black raincoat, Hizaki left them without another word. The aristocratic world of Kamijou was something only the most refined of tastes could endure—even Hizaki could not for long. Yet he looked forward to their next meeting.


End file.
